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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28072161">Ice Castles</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterwords/pseuds/masterwords'>masterwords</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aaron Hotchner Needs a Hug, Blood and Injury, Brain Damage, CPR, Falling Through Ice, Hospitals, Hurt Aaron Hotchner, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Near Death, Near Drowning, Protective David Rossi, Support Group, Surgery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:41:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28072161</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterwords/pseuds/masterwords</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Reid saw the crack spreading under Hotch now and slid down onto his stomach, reaching desperately for Hotch's foot, grabbing hold just in time to pull the unconscious man closer to him, away from the splitting ice.  The target, Henry Tyler (arsonist and psychopath) crashed through the ice first as he turned around and tried to run again, creating a wide hole that got larger as he thrashed, splashing freezing water on Hotch and Reid.  Reid tried to slide them backward, but the ice fell out from under Hotch and the dead weight of his boss pulled them both toward the water head first. </i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aaron Hotchner/David Rossi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Another day of Advent, another Hotch story.  This one is inspired by an ask on Tumblr. (Posted there as well.) I might have hurt him a little worse than requested, and I’m a little bit sorry for that.  More tomorrow!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>…........................................ Part One: Ice, Ice Baby …...............................</p><p> </p><p>The sound the ice made as it cracked under their feet was delicate at first, just tiny crunches and splinters.  As they picked up speed, feet pounding the delicate frozen layer over the large pond, it went from delicate to frightening, echoing through the trees around them.  </p><p>“Watch it, Hotch!  Reid!  The ice!” Morgan cried out.  He watched as Hotch and Reid continued their pursuit of their target, the rest of the team hanging back and moving around the outside of the frozen pond.  JJ crept through the reeds, feeling her boots crunch and sink in the slushy snow of the bank, watching in horror as her friends charged ahead.  </p><p>“Morgan!” Emily cried out in warning, and he skidded to a stop, just in time to watch a crack spring out from beneath his boots and lurch forward toward his running friends and their heavy, pounding feet.  Instantly, he slid down onto his stomach and rolled backward, away from the spreading chasm.  He looked up to watch the man being chased turn around and, with a look of wild terror, land a solid hit to the side of Hotch's head with the shovel he'd been dragging behind him.  The blow came as a shock to Hotch who went sprawling heavily to the delicate ground, losing consciousness as his head hit the ice.  Blood pooled like molasses where he landed.  Reid saw the crack spreading under Hotch now and slid down onto his stomach, reaching desperately for Hotch's foot, grabbing hold just in time to pull the unconscious man closer to him, away from the splitting ice.  The target, Henry Tyler (arsonist and psychopath) crashed through the ice first as he turned around and tried to run again, creating a wide hole that got larger as he thrashed, splashing freezing water on Hotch and Reid.  Reid tried to slide them backward, but the ice fell out from under Hotch and the dead weight of his boss pulled them both toward the water head first.  </p><p> </p><p>“Morgan!  MORGAN!” Reid shrieked, panic seizing his terrified body, his muscles tensing as he struggled just to hold onto Hotch.  It all happened so fast, but felt like slow motion.  Someone would get them, someone would save them, he just had to hold on to Hotch, he couldn't let Hotch go.  His face plunged into the water and every instinct in him told him to panic, to gasp for breath at how very cold it was, but he fought it tooth and nail.  Focus on Hotch.  Focus on Hotch.  His fingers were frozen in place, curled painfully around Hotch's ankles, twisted in the pant-legs, he couldn't have moved them if he tried.  He didn't know how long they were down there before he felt the sensation of being pulled upward, upward toward the warmth.  Two hands, four hands, gripping his kevlar vest, pulled him up.  Them up. Them up, he still had Hotch. He had no idea how he'd held on but he had.  He couldn't let go.  He struggled to see, everything was too bright though, but he knew that he and Hotch were sliding on their backs slowly, and he could hear Prentiss and Morgan talking loud and wild though the words escaped him.  It didn't matter.  After what seemed like forever, he could feel the soft, wet ground beneath him and he struggled to open his eyes.  He still gripped Hotch's leg, his fingers wouldn't move. Couldn't move.  </p><p>“Reid?” JJ called to him, leaning in close enough that he could smell the mint gum on her breath.  Morgan patted him on the chest as soon as he opened his eyes, he looked elated and terrified at the same time and Reid couldn't figure why.  </p><p>“You're a rockstar, kid,” Morgan said, moving away from him and toward Hotch's lifeless body.  Reid could hear the panic in Rossi's voice as he yelled into the phone for an ambulance, he could hear Prentiss counting her beats and knew she was attempting CPR.  When Rossi approached Hotch, Morgan held him back, he could see the fear and panic in the older man's face.  He couldn't help Hotch in the state he was in.  </p><p>“Rossi, stay with Reid, we've got this here,” he heard Morgan say, and he finally let go of Hotch, tried to sit up, his entire body shivering from head to toe.  JJ held him upright and wrapped her coat around him the best she could, and soon he felt Rossi's arms around him holding him close.  He could feel the thunder of Rossi's heart, the way he was trembling, and he knew even in his fog that Hotch wasn't okay.  </p><p>“Is he dead?” Reid asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.  JJ shook her head.  </p><p>“Don't Spence,” she said softly, her eyes fluttering between Rossi and Reid, then over to where Hotch lay with Morgan now having taken over the CPR to give Prentiss a break.  </p><p>“HOTCH!” Morgan cried out when he felt the man sputter to life beneath him, vomiting up water and frothy pink liquid.  Morgan rolled him onto his side to help him get the liquid out of his lungs and held his shivering body tight.  His pants and boots were covered it Hotch's sick, but he held the man close anyway, his shivering body otherwise limp.  He was breathing, that was all that mattered.  </p><p>The ambulance wasn't able to get close, so the team watched as Hotch and Reid were loaded onto stretchers and carted across the slushy field.  Dave struggled to keep up beside the stretcher carrying Hotch, desperation fueling his every icy step.  Morgan ran right behind him, the others close.  The ambulances were next to their SUV, and everyone piled into vehicles at once.  Morgan was speeding away before anyone could even buckle their seat belts, tailing the ambulances with their sirens blaring through the icy night.  </p><p>“Did anyone see what happened to Tyler?” JJ asked, her voice full of quiet shock in the back seat.  Morgan stared straight ahead, unable to think of anything more than keeping on the ambulances, so Prentiss spoke up.  </p><p>“He was the first one into the water,” she said softly, shaking her head.  “I never saw him come up.”</p><p>“Good,” Rossi spat from the backseat, his features set in twisted rage. Morgan glanced up into the rear-view mirror, peering at Rossi's stricken face, and returned his eyes to the road.  He'd have to keep an eye on him, he was bound to try something stupid to get to Hotch. They could all feel his anger radiating.  He could be a wild card, tended to take things into his own hands if he didn't feel they were being handled appropriately.  David Rossi had his own idea of what justice meant.    </p><p>In the hospital, everything was chaos.  It was a quiet rural hospital, but they knew how to deal with injuries related to the ice, it was most of what they did.  Reid was taken back quietly for examination, bundled now in warming blankets, but he was alert.  Hotch was piled in blankets as well but he was thrashing around when the team entered, screaming and delirious.  JJ looked away, she knew Hotch would never want them to see him like this – terrified and panic stricken.  Rossi started for the stretcher the minute he saw it, crying out to Hotch.  </p><p>“Aaron!” he called, reaching for his partner desperately.  He saw the terror in Hotch's eyes and mirrored it with his own.  </p><p>“Dave!  Dave don't let them take me!  Where are they taking me?!” Hotch called, coughing and gasping for air while the nurses and techs tried desperately to calm him.  Morgan reached out in time to catch Dave, to stop his advance, and Emily put her hand on his arm.  </p><p>“Let them take him back,” Morgan said softly, not relinquishing his grip on the older man.</p><p>“Something's wrong,” Prentiss muttered under her breath, and they all felt it.  Hotch didn't behave that way, he was no stranger to hospitals, but he was completely overcome by panic.  They watched as the doors closed behind the stretcher, Hotch still crying out for Dave to come to him, and Morgan could feel Dave trembling in his hands.  </p><p>“Come on, Rossi, let's go sit down.”</p><p>“I can't sit down,” Rossi muttered, shaking loose of Morgan's grip and stalking toward the nurse's station nearby.  Morgan watched, afraid that Rossi was going to yell at them, to burst through the doors to chase Hotch down, but by the time he reached the Charge Nurse he was able to pull up that flirty, kind demeanor.  Morgan didn't know what he was saying, but it looked like he was getting what he wanted, whatever it was.  When he returned to where the team was sitting, he was in much better spirits.  </p><p>“What was that about?” Morgan asked, running a hand over his sweat slicked head. He was utterly spent and hanging by a thread.  Rossi just shrugged.  </p><p>“I just wanted to make sure they had all of the information they needed, and to let them know we were the family when they have news.”  </p><p>Morgan had a feeling Rossi had said more than that, but he let it be.  What existed between Hotch and Rossi was no secret, but it was still private – it was hard enough to maintain friendships under these circumstances, let alone a romantic relationship.      </p><p>Reid was released after a couple of hours of observation, and though JJ wanted to take him back to their hotel so he could sleep, he refused to leave until he knew Hotch was okay.  They'd heard nothing about Hotch, though Rossi had been hounding the nurses at the station for news.  So far as anyone knew, they were still in surgery and weren't ready to give out any details – the nurses with their sad, sweet eyes told Rossi that meant it was all still touch and go as they patted him gently on the arm.  Not the news he wanted to hear, but at least they were being honest.  </p><p>“Should we take this in shifts?” JJ asked, her hands shoved deep in her pockets playing with the little bits of lint at the seams, just to give them something to do.<br/>
“Yeah, that's a good idea.  The hotel is right down the road, we could walk there.  Rossi?” Morgan asked, and all of them followed his gaze to the man who was sitting there with his features set in steel.  Rossi glanced up at them and shrugged.  </p><p>“You guys go get some sleep, I'm not going anywhere.”</p><p>“One of us will stay,” Morgan replied, standing and arching his back.  “Everyone else will go sleep, and we'll take shifts coming back to stay with you.”</p><p>“That sounds fine,” Rossi replied, only half paying attention to anything that was being said.  He could hardly focus on anything except the small windows showing the hallway to the OR, those swinging doors that would eventually lead to the best or worst news of his entire life.  He knew there was no in between right now – Aaron either lived or he didn't, nothing else made any difference.  </p><p>“I'm staying,” Reid chirped, his voice small but firm.  JJ shook her head, mirrored by Prentiss.  </p><p>“No way, YOU need sleep Spence.  You were in that water too!” JJ looked fierce, she was pulling out her mom voice, but Reid didn't flinch, didn't budge.  Rossi placed one hand on Reid's leg appreciatively and nodded at JJ.  </p><p>“The kid can sleep here,” Rossi said softly, glad to have the company of the young man.  “I'll keep an eye on him, JJ.  It's the least I can do after everything he did.”</p><p>Morgan nodded and placed his hand on JJ's shoulder, giving her a light squeeze.  “Come on, let's go. Rossi, you call us as soon as you hear anything.”</p><p>“I will,” Rossi replied, settling into his chair.  “As soon as I know, you'll know.”</p><p>The rest of them left sadly, though none of them wanted to go.  They knew they needed to get some sleep in order to be of any help.  Prentiss glanced back at Rossi and Reid, both leaning against each other now in their chairs, settled in for a long night, and she thought she could feel her heart breaking into pieces.  This wasn't the first time they'd all been here, waiting on news about one of their dearest friends, but somehow this time felt different.  There was something scary and very, very real that hung over them.  This wasn't just a patch-up job.  The terror on Hotch's face, it had chilled her to the bone.  She didn't know what it was, what it meant, but it stayed with her and she would dream about that look many times throughout her life.  </p><p>Hours ticked past with no news.  There was a shift change that occurred on them around 11pm, and Rossi had to be acquainted with the new nurses, the new techs, anyone who might have even a shred of information.  He felt like he was wandering around in a fog, stuck between life and death.  Reid slept soundly curled up in his chair, all arms and legs pulled tight like a spider turned in on itself.  Rossi had made it his mission to attend to Reid's every need, making sure his blanket stayed in place, he had water when he needed it, almost to the point of obsession.    </p><p>“David Rossi?” came a voice from the hallway, and Rossi looked up to see that blessed door open.  He sucked in his breath, willing himself to stand up, to walk to the man on shaking legs.</p><p>“Yes, that's me,” came Rossi's voice, breathy and tired.  He was so tired.  </p><p>“We've done what we could tonight.  There are complications still to be dealt with, he's not out of the woods yet, but we can't do anything more now.  His vitals are dipping into dangerous territory under sedation.  We are hoping to stabilize his body temperature and hypoxemia over the next few hours, which should give us the green light to move forward with the next round of therapies and procedures.”</p><p>“What,” Rossi began, clearing the painful emotion out of his throat.  “What's the...”</p><p>“I'm sorry, I really can't say. He'll be in the ICU tonight.”  </p><p>“Can I see him?  Please?” Rossi asked.  He could feel tears burning hot, threatening just out of sight, but he knew if he let them out now they may not ever stop.  </p><p>“He's the only one back in recovery. Once he's all cleared to be moved up to the ICU, you can come in for just a few minutes.  He will be awake for evaluation by our stroke team, so you should be able to see him somewhat alert, if he's able.  When I say a few minutes, Agent, I mean a very few minutes. Time is of the essence here.”</p><p>“Stroke team?”  </p><p>“He's suffered a traumatic brain injury.  We were able to place a device that will monitor his intracranial pressure for us while we focus on warming his core temperature and getting his blood oxygenated.  Thankfully, with the short amount of time he spent deprived of oxygen, his prognosis is good but we can't give you any solid answers until we've been able to explore any cardiopulmonary damage further in the morning.  We've completed the initial round of evaluations and stabilized him, but there are still a number of complications to be dealt with and more that could present as we move forward.  These first 24 hours are critical.  All of that to say, we can best decide our plan of action by having our stroke team do a thorough evaluation at this early stage – they are our resident experts in neurological trauma.  I realize that sounds scary, and I'm sorry, but this is where we're at. It's a lot of waiting right now to see what his body does.  The nurse will come and get you when he's ready.  Minutes, Agent Rossi. You will have minutes.”</p><p>Rossi cleared his throat again nervously and nodded.  “Understood.”</p><p>He would gladly take minutes.  Right now he'd accept seconds just to see Hotch alive, just to see his chest rise and fall with breath.  To see his eyes open would be a miracle.  Slowly, he made his way back to Reid, who was sitting bolt upright now looking like a meerkat on high alert.  </p><p>“You hear any of that?” Rossi asked, and Reid nodded solemnly, avoiding eye contact with his friend.</p><p>“All of it.”</p><p>“Good.  You tell everyone, huh?  I'm not sure I...I'm not...”</p><p>“Sure.  Yeah.  I can do that.  I'm sorry, Rossi.  I'm sorry I couldn't stop us falling in.  I tried.” Reid's eyes filled with tears and his shoulders shook, breaking Rossi's heart into a thousand pieces.  Tears were falling from his eyes now too as he sat down and pulled Reid into a hug, holding tight.  </p><p>“He'd be gone if it wasn't for you,” Rossi whispered, tears coating his lips, salting his words.  “He's only here because you got to him when you did.”</p><p>“Agent Rossi?  You can come back now,” the nurse called from the swinging doors that lead back to the OR, interrupting the two men.  Rossi glanced at Reid and swiped the tears from his cheeks.  Reid nodded earnestly and pursed his lips, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone.  He would make the call while Rossi was back there, it might make the news easier to swallow.  Rossi stood and followed the nurse down the hall, turning quickly to get him a jacket, shoe covers and a hair cover so that he could walk through the OR corridor.  He felt ridiculous, like someone pretending to be a doctor in a film by stealing a lab coat.  As they approached the recovery room, his breath hitched in his throat, he had no idea what to expect.  </p><p>“You have five minutes, Mister Rossi. I'm sorry that isn't much time.”</p><p>“It's plenty.  I wasn't sure I'd ever get any again.  This is a gift.”</p><p>“That's a wonderful perspective. I'll leave you alone, but if he gets upset or agitated, we will need to come in.  TBIs can be unpredictable.”</p><p>“Understood.  Thank you.”</p><p>He approached the bed cautiously, noting how very fragile his partner looked lying there.  His skin was so pale, uncovered and exposed in too many places, and he was hooked up to more monitors and IVs than Dave could have imagined.  Still, his eyes were fluttering open and closed, he was there, he was in there.  </p><p>“Aaron,” Dave whispered, trying not to choke on his fear as he leaned over the bed now.  He saw Aaron's eyes turn toward him, recognition flashed through them and tears formed at the corners but he didn't say a word, didn't even move his lips.  Maybe he couldn't, Dave didn't know.  He just put his hand on Aaron's chest, felt the rise and fall, and stared at him.  He just stared at that beautiful face, reveled in these gifted moments he'd waited hours on.  The first real sign that something was wrong, still very wrong was Aaron's chest, his breathing felt labored and inconsistent, unnatural, not at all like the gentle breaths he fell asleep listening to every night.  </p><p>“I know you'd ask if you could, so I want you to know that everyone is okay.  Reid is in the lobby keeping me company, everyone else is sleeping at the hotel but they'll be around to see you when you're allowed visitors.  We're all fine, you don't need to worry about anyone okay? You just focus on getting better.”  More tears, they were flowing in rivers down to Hotch's temples, pooling there in the hair above his ears.  Dave softly placed his thumb against his skin and wiped at the stream of tears, terrified by how cold Aaron still felt.  When the nurse came back into the room, when his time was up, Rossi didn't want to leave but he put up no fuss.  He'd had his time and he would have more later.  He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss right between Aaron's eyebrows, that soft flat spot that felt like home, and whispered that he loved him and he'd be back as soon as they'd let him.  He turned and walked away slowly after that, unable to maintain his composure much longer.  He could hear Aaron begin to make whimpering noises behind him, still too sedated to cry out but enough to register the agony of being alone again.  Rossi couldn't turn around or he'd lose his resolve and start fighting to stay, cause a scene, he had to just keep going.  It took everything in him to place one foot in front of the other and leave that room.  The last thing he heard was Aaron’s ghost of a voice cry out his name, pleading desperately for the nurses to let him stay.  </p><p>“I'm so sorry,” his nurse, the one he'd come in with, said to him as she walked him back down the hallway.  He nodded his appreciation, but he couldn't speak.  “If there is any way to get you into his room tonight, I'll let you know.  I'll do everything I can.  Might even bend a rule or two, if he cooperates.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Rossi whispered, fearing that any louder and she'd know how very broken he was.  When he saw Reid there in the chair, he crumbled, and after sharing what had happened, they both sat in silent pools of tears, leaning against each other, sentinels in the night.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to everyone for reading this!  I’m a little bit sorry I hurt him so bad, this was going to be a one shot story but it got out of hand and it’s only getting worse as I keep going.  Sorry?  Maybe.  Kind of.  This one is all Hossi, but Part Three will involve more of The Team so stay tuned.  Please forgive me.  (Also posted to Tumblr)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>3AM.  Snow fell silently through the air, fluffy little mounds forming at Rossi's feet.  He'd been outside for long enough that his hair was covered in white, dripping melted snow into his eyes.  The streetlamps cast their yellow haze over the fallen snow, bathing the night in a warmth that Rossi couldn't feel. Aaron had been moved up to the ICU after being sedated again, and he and Reid had followed dutifully along to the new waiting room.  It was smaller and more comfortable, made for people who were there for the long haul, not just passing through – there was a small television on one wall, and the nurses had given them blankets and pillows to help them get more comfortable.  There were four chairs and two benches that could be slept on, if you were capable of curling into a ball like Reid anyway.  He'd passed out quickly, but Rossi just couldn't seem to close his eyes.  He could see Hotch's room through the lounge window, could see people going in and out in steady streams, but he couldn't see into the room.  They hadn't intended to sedate Hotch again, but he was in such a state of intense panic that he was trying to rip out his IVs.  Rossi had asked if he could stay with him, hoping that would help, but they weren't prepared to allow it yet.  He'd left Reid there to sleep in the waiting room, needing to get some air.  Waiting didn't come naturally to him, he was not a patient person.  When his phone rang, he pulled it out of his pocket, noting the time:  3:16AM.  </p><p>“Rossi,” he muttered, turning the corner now, walking around the block.  He needed to move his legs, to shake the ice out of his bones.  The newly fallen snow crunched under his feet.  </p><p>“Oh, Rossi!” Penelope Garcia, crying softly, trying to hide it.  The last thing he needed, but the only person he wanted to hear.  Her voice was like a balm on his soul.  “I'm so sorry to bother you I just...I couldn't sleep and I thought maybe you'd be awake too...oh my gosh I forgot about the time difference...oh I'm so sorry, I'm two hours ahead of you...”</p><p>“What can I do for you Garcia?”  He hadn't intended to be clipped, but his teeth were chattering and he was puffing in the cold air, fighting against the whipping wind.  The snow was coming in sideways now, catching in his eyelashes.  He should have turned the other direction, he thought bitterly.  </p><p>“Nothing sir.  Nothing, I don't need anything...I just...I just couldn't sleep, I keep thinking about Hotch and I just...”</p><p>“I understand.  Me too, kiddo.  Me too.”</p><p>“What can I do?  I feel so helpless,” More sobs.  He could tell she was trying desperately not to let him hear it, but he didn't mind.  It reminded him that he wasn't the only one who was hurting, he wasn't the only one who couldn't imagine life without Aaron Hotchner.  Rossi sighed and stopped in the pool of light beneath a streetlamp, leaning against it for a moment and watching the snow swirl around him.  </p><p>“It's all up to him, kiddo,” he said softly, like he was admitting it to himself as well.  Try as he might to control the situation, to get all of the information he could, to hound the hospital staff – there wasn't anything he could do, it was up to Hotch now.  “They're doing everything they can, we just have to wait and see how his body responds.”  His phone buzzed against his cheek and he held it out, squinting into the snow to see Reid's name flashing.  </p><p>“Penelope, I need to call you back, I have another call I need to take.”  He didn't wait for Garcia to respond before hanging up – he'd feel bad about it later, but if Reid was calling it was urgent.  Whether it was about Hotch or whether he just needed to talk, it didn't matter.  </p><p>“Rossi?” Reid's voice was sleepy and soft.  “Rossi, the nurses are asking if you'll be back soon. They want to talk to you.”</p><p>“I'm on my way,” he said, clicking the phone off and shoving it into his pocket.  He dug his hands in and turned around, walking now with his back against the wind, toward the hospital entrance with a sense of urgency he hadn't anticipated at this time of night.  </p><p>Back up in the ICU, he took off his wet jacket and hung it on a hook inside the waiting area.  Reid was awake now, thumbing through a magazine slowly with tired eyes – he wasn't reading, Rossi could tell he was just staring through the pages. He'd probably already read it three times, cover to cover in the last few minutes.  A tired looking nurse holding a coffee cup watched him enter and approached quickly, followed by Shirley, the nurse who had taken him back to see Hotch hours earlier in the recovery room.  </p><p>“Agent Rossi, he isn't responding well to our interventions under sedation but he's too agitated to be awake – I've managed to convince the physicians to let you sit in the room with him, to see if that calms him enough that he will sleep without sedation.  I told them that he was awake with you and had stayed calm, they're willing to give it a try.  He has to be still, he needs to sleep, but if you think you can help us with that...I can get you into that room right now.”</p><p>“I'll do anything,” Rossi muttered, feeling his chest swell painfully.  He walked behind the nurse and stopped short of the door to the room.  Hotch was there in his bed, looking so fraile surrounded by machines and people, his eyes closed but Rossi could see his lashes fluttering – they were waking him. His stomach churned.  </p><p>“Doctor Chavez?  This is David Rossi, the patient's partner,” Shirley said softly.  She had already set up a chair for Rossi beside the bed, complete with a blanket and a glass of water.  He made mental note to do something for her before they left – what, he didn't know, but he couldn't let her kindness just slip by unrewarded.  Dr. Chavez was a neurologist, a man of few words and steady hands.  He towered over Rossi, tall and lean, like a praying mantis.  </p><p>“He's waking up.  So long as you can keep him calm and in this bed, you may stay.  It would be best for him to sleep, but I understand he may not be able to do so – just try not to stimulate him too much. You look like you could use some sleep too, you may want to consider trying.”</p><p>Rossi stood still for a moment, watching the doctor leave before making his way to the bed, his bones creaking as he sat down.  He put his hand on top of Hotch's, it was cold and trembled slightly.  How many times had he been here?  Done this?  How many times did he pray to God that He not take Aaron yet? Here he was, doing it again, praying desperately for a miracle.  </p><p>“Dave?” came a whisper soft voice, pulling him from his trance, and he found himself looking into the sleepy eyes he'd been praying over.  “What's going on?”  </p><p>“It's okay, Aaron,” he reassured, his voice so quiet and low.  “It's okay, everything is going to be okay.”  </p><p>“Why - “ Hotch started, pausing to swallow painfully, closing his eyes momentarily.  “Why does my head...I can't remember...<em>it hurts so bad</em>.”</p><p>“The doctors are trying to help,” Rossi leaned in close, pulling Hotch's shaking hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles, resting it against the warm skin of his cheek. Hotch closed his eyes again, his features pale and stricken, and Rossi could feel his insides twisting around themselves – watching Aaron like this was agony.  </p><p>“What...what happened?”</p><p>It took Rossi a moment to consider how to begin, to recount what had happened without upsetting his friend, but he found a way to make his voice work.  He didn't want to think about it again.  Speaking it into life, watching it happen, reliving it.  As he spoke, he held tight to Hotch's hand, watching his reaction carefully and taking things slowly, bit by bit.  His brow furrowed at times, like it wasn't making sense, and Rossi slowed down and repeated things as necessary, even when it killed him to.  </p><p>“Reid,” Hotch gulped, wincing again.  Swallowing hurt.  Everything hurt.  “Reid is here?”</p><p>“He wouldn't leave,” Rossi replied with a soft, sad smile.  “Do you want to see him?”</p><p>“No,” Hotch said softly, letting his eyes close.  The pain in his head was torture and the lights made it so much worse.  He didn't know if any of these pipelines running into his veins was for pain medication, but if one was, it wasn't working.  He squirmed and shifted slightly in his bed.  “Just you. Please.”</p><p>Rossi nodded and let his hand drift up, fingers gently sweeping the hair back away from Hotch's forehead.  He let his fingers trail through the messy mop of hair, the hair they both tried so desperately to tame but it always won in the end.  That gentle touch seemed to soothe him, to calm him more than anything else had, so Rossi continued almost mindlessly, losing himself in the motion.  </p><p>“I need to make a phone call,” Rossi whispered, coming back to reality slowly and leaning back in his chair.  Hotch's eyes shot open quickly, almost immediately anxiety stricken.  The heart monitor beeped louder, sounding the alert like a tattle tale child.  </p><p>“Don't go, <em>please don't go</em>,” he pleaded, and Rossi leaned forward again, his hand reaching out to touch his partner's chest, to calm that desperate rise and fall of panic.  </p><p>“I'm not going anywhere,” Rossi said softly, searching Hotch's eyes for recognition, for understanding.  He watched as the heart rate slowed back to normal and sighed.  “I'm staying right here.  I just need to call Morgan. I need to have someone come get Reid, that's all.”</p><p>Nodding, Hotch let his eyes close again, gulping down his fear.  Why was he so afraid?  He couldn't remember.  Everything was so blurry, like a fever dream.  He heard Rossi's soft voice from beside him, greeting Morgan gently, and Hotch listened, losing himself in that voice.  He remembered that voice, he knew that voice.  That voice always carried him through when the world was wrong, when things went bad.  Everything else was a jumbled mess in his head, like someone had dumped out his toybox of memories all over the bedroom floor and he was sitting in the middle not knowing how to clean it up.  They were all there but they were wrong, out of order, hazy.</p><p>“Morgan, I need you to come and get Reid.  They're going to let me stay with Aaron, I don't want the poor kid in the lounge alone.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll be there in a few.  Rossi, he's awake?  Hotch I mean?”</p><p>“He's awake,” Rossi replied, not offering up further information.  He knew it was going to upset Morgan but what could he say in front of Hotch?  </p><p>“How is he?”</p><p>Rossi regarded his partner for a moment and his heart sank. How was he?  Not well.  Not himself.  Sad and scared and confused and in pain. How could he tell Morgan any of that over the phone?  A conversation for another time, with the whole team, not now.    </p><p>“He's tired.  We're both going to try and get some sleep, but I wanted to make sure Reid was taken care of first.  Tell him I called you, that he needs to go sleep now.  He did great.  I'm not sure I could have...he did great.”</p><p>Morgan regarded what Rossi was saying through the filter of his exhaustion and sighed, hanging up the phone.  He was keenly aware that Rossi knew more than he was letting on, was hiding something, he just hoped Rossi wouldn't make them drag it out of him.  Hotch was looking at Rossi now, his eyes red rimmed and glassy, tears visible just at the surface.  </p><p>“Dave,” he whispered, choking on a quiet sob.  “Don't go.  Please.  I'm so tired...but I'm afraid if I close my eyes you'll be gone again...I don't want to be alone.”</p><p>“I'm not going anywhere,” Rossi whispered, holding back his own tears.  He leaned forward and rested his chest against the bed, his head on Aaron's lap.  “I'm staying right here.  Promise.”  </p><p>They both slept, at least for a couple of hours.  Nurses came through quietly, performing nearly silent hourly rounds, and neither of them seemed to stir.  When the early morning sunlight came creeping through the closed blinds, Rossi woke first but didn't move for fear that it would wake his companion.  He listened to the ragged breathing, the muffled coughs, felt the other man's muscles quaking, small reminders that things were not okay no matter how many times he said it out loud.  It wasn't until Dr. Chavez entered the room at 7:02am that Rossi sat up, and to his surprise, Hotch remained asleep.  </p><p>“Good morning,” the doctor said with his slow, carefully articulated speech.  “I take it you both slept well.”  He was reading through the EKG printouts, the charted vital signs, and Rossi couldn't tell if he was pleased with what he saw or concerned, the man's face had no emotion.  </p><p>“We did alright,” Rossi replied, stifling a yawn.  Chavez looked at him and smiled, just slightly.  </p><p>“I've got him lined up for a lot of testing this morning, and it looks like he's going to be better able to tolerate it.  It all hinged on him resting and gaining strength. You did very good.”  </p><p>Rossi smiled this time.  He couldn't remember a single time that a doctor had complimented him, except perhaps on his exceptionally frustrating pigheadedness, though he was sure that one hadn't been intended as a compliment.  Chavez began pressing buttons, messing with IV lines, uncovering the sleeping man to check him out.  Rossi watched with burning tired eyes, yawning again.  He was too old for that little sleep.  Hotch's eyes fluttered open and Rossi grabbed his hand instinctively, pulling attention toward him – he watched as the immediate panic gave way quicker this time.  They were both adapting, one step at a time.  </p><p>“Still here,” Rossi mumbled, smiling.  Hotch just looked at him sadly.  </p><p>“Want to go home,” he croaked, his voice weak.  Rossi nodded.  </p><p>“I know.  Me too.  You just have to get a little better first, then we'll be on the first plane outta here.”</p><p>“Mister Hotchner?” chimed in Doctor Chavez, and Hotch turned his eyes up to meet his doctor's, tears racing down his cheeks now.  He wasn't sure why he was crying but he couldn't make it stop.  Doctor Chavez rested his hand reassuringly on Hotch's lower leg and nodded.  “I'm sure you're experiencing a lot of very confusing things right now and <em>that's okay</em>.  Try not to be scared.  It's all very common in someone who has sustained a brain injury.  We will be taking you downstairs for some tests and procedures in about 20 minutes that will help us figure out how to get you fixed up so you can go home.  We need to take some pictures of your head and your chest if that's okay.”</p><p>Hotch nodded, blinking the tears from his eyes and squeezing Rossi's hand.  </p><p>“Good.  Good, I'm glad you're on board.  Mister Rossi here stayed with you all night – would you like him to stay tonight too?”</p><p>Hotch nodded again, swallowing the lump in his throat.  He winced.  Rossi noted that the doctor almost acted as if he were speaking to a child and it worried him, made him feel sick, but Hotch was responding.  He focused on that.  </p><p>“Can you tell me about Mister Rossi?” Chavez asked, pulling up a chair now and sitting beside his patient with a pad in his hand.  He curled one impossibly long leg up and over the other, looping his foot behind his calf.  “He seems like a good friend.  I'd like to know about him.”</p><p>Hotch nodded slowly, but he struggled for a moment, his brows knitting in frustration.  He couldn't find the words – he knew all about Rossi, he knew everything, he'd known him for more than half of his life but he couldn't find any words.  A searing pain coursed through his head and he squeezed his eyes shut.</p><p>“It's okay, Aaron, it's okay.  Tell me what's happening right now.”</p><p>“It hurts.  It <em>hurts</em>.” Doctor Chavez nodded and reached up, pressing the call button for the nurse.  </p><p>“We can take care of that,” he said softly.  When the nurse entered, he asked her to check his medication doses and to make adjustments for his pain level if she was able. Once she'd set to that, Chavez looked back at his patient with his gaze softened, just slightly.  “Now, Aaron, how about we start small...what is Mister Rossi's first name?”</p><p>“Dave...” Aaron whimpered.  He felt so wrong in his body, so out of place.  His hands were shaking uncontrollably, steadily getting worse.  It hurt to breathe.  </p><p>“Good, good.  When is his birthday?”</p><p>“May...May 9<sup>th</sup>.”  He felt better now, remembering slowly.  Dave’s birthday.  It was important and he remembered it.  </p><p>“Is that correct, Dave?”</p><p>“Yes, of course.  He never lets me forget it.”</p><p>“Excellent.  Aaron you're doing great.  Now for the really important stuff...how do you take your coffee?”</p><p>Rossi smiled, watching Hotch look at the doctor like he was a madman.  “Black.”  </p><p>“The only way,” Chavez said, sucking in a deep breath and standing up, uncurling his lanky limbs. “Dave, may I see you outside please?  Aaron, nurse Shirley is going to prepare you for your procedures but I <em>promise</em> Dave will be here the moment you return to this room.  While he and I speak, you will see him right outside of that window, he's not going anywhere. Will you trust me?”</p><p>Hotch nodded, but his eyes betrayed him.  Rossi could see how scared he was as he made his way just outside the doorway to speak with the doctor while keeping his eye on his companion there in the bed.</p><p>“He's showing significant improvement in his cognizant abilities,” Chavez began, hazarding a glance back into the room.  “Last night he was unable to speak coherently except when in a state of complete panic.  Once we have the results of his CT scans, I'll have a better understanding of where we go with treatment, but I do want you to know that often with TBIs, even in mild cases like his, there can be permanent changes that take place.  He should be back up here by lunchtime, and I'd like to request that you go and sit in on our TBI support group while he's away.  They meet on the 3<sup>rd</sup> floor in Conference Room B at 9:30am – I often lead the group, fantastic people.  Shirley is leading it today, I find that a friendly face is helpful in new situations.”</p><p>“Oh, no I,” Rossi began, but the doctor just nodded, reaching into his pocket and handing Rossi a folded up pamphlet.  </p><p>“Please.  Just go, grab some coffee and a cinnamon roll and <em>listen</em>.  Hear their stories – they're people like you who love someone whose brain may never again be what it once was.  You won't regret it.  They have been where you are now.  Your job is to support him while he heals, but you'll need some too.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here we are, Part Three!  I’ve got a few more installments before this story is done.  This is late in the day for me, I’ll have Part Four up earlier tomorrow I hope. Thank you for all of the comments and kudos!  Much appreciated!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>…...............................................Part Three......................................................</p><p>The cinnamon rolls were huge and a little dry, but the frosting was thick and if you dipped it into your coffee it was almost like taking a bite out of heaven, especially if you were badly enough sleep deprived.  Rossi's eyes were tired and burned for sleep and he yawned violently between bites of his too sweet breakfast.  He couldn't really have told you why he'd come to this meeting.  He supposed, as he took his seat at the back of the small conference room, that the thought that Hotch might be different had him worried, a fear he'd never experienced before.  It wasn't a worry born in selfish needs, if he needed to retire and spend the rest of his days taking care of Hotch, he was all in, lord knows he was ready to retire again.  He'd do it right this minute if he could. So tired, tired of things like this happening to people he loved. This job took too much.  </p><p>“Would anyone like to start us off?” Shirley asked, snapping Rossi from his thoughts.  He sipped his coffee, which now tasted like barely even lukewarm battery acid, and settled down further into his chair. The vinyl squeaked and squealed under him, causing a few sideways glances in his direction.  So much for flying under the radar.  Shirley saw him and gave him a warm smile and a small wave, to which he inclined his head in a small nod. A man stood up a few seats away and began speaking about his wife who had been in a car accident, followed by another man who spoke about his son who had been injured playing football at school.  Rossi listened intently to their stories, some of them were up against everything – anything that could go wrong did, while others seemed to be dealing with just day to day difficulties and emotions.  By the time it was done, he felt raw and hopeless, not exactly what the doctor had intended he was sure, but then the doctor didn't know Hotch.  </p><p>Back in the ICU, Rossi found the team seated in the lounge, taking up the entire place.  It was a good thing that Hotch was the only patient currently in residence.  They were spread out with laptops and case files, working diligently to get through the paperwork before they flew back home.  Rossi knew they'd have to leave sooner rather than later and at that precise moment, he wasn't overly hopeful that he and Hotch would be on the plane with them.  </p><p>“Rossi!” JJ shouted, covering her mouth quickly when she realized how loud it had come out.  She vaulted up out of her chair to hug him, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing tight.  So tight.  He leaned into the hug, letting her hold on as long as she needed.  Pretty soon they were all on their feet, waiting their turns, and by the end Rossi felt touched out but pleased.  These, for better or worse, were his people.  He'd barely liked them at first, and they him, but he wasn't sure he could live without them now.    </p><p>“So he was awake last night?” JJ asked, still standing so close to Rossi.  She couldn't seem to pull herself away.  “How was he?”</p><p>Rossi glanced at the clock on the wall and knew it would be a while yet before they brought Hotch back upstairs, he had time to talk.  He hesitated for a moment before asking them all to have a seat.  Emily picked up her laptop and shut it, making room for Rossi to have a seat beside her.  </p><p>“He's not,” Rossi began, pausing for a moment to collect himself.  Without Hotch, it was up to him to be the one who could wheel and deal in bad news like it was the funny pages, casting their worry and doubts away.  He wasn't quite sure how Hotch did it every day, but he was the only one who really got to see the toll it took after hours.  The ticking of the clock was deafening, the silence stretching out uncomfortably between them.  He looked around into all of their expectant faces, he so desperately wanted to tell them everything was good.  Clearing his throat, he continued.  </p><p>“It's not good.  He was better this morning, the doctor sounded pleased with his progress.  He can't remember anything that happened, and even after I told him, he didn't seem to really understand.”</p><p>“What about...” Emily began, wanting to ask about that look, that terror on his face, but she didn't know how.  It had haunted her all night.  Rossi nodded, he knew.  He'd dreamed of that look, it had stirred him more than once from his sleep.  </p><p>“He's confused and scared, he's having trouble regulating some things right now.  They're doing some imaging right now and they should have some answers for us in a while.”</p><p>“You weren’t here when we got here.  Where were you?” Reid asked, hugging the book he'd been reading to his chest.  They hadn't let him do his own paperwork, Morgan insisted on taking it on after Reid's heroism.  Reid wasn't one to complain about not having to do his files, he'd accepted gratefully and brought along his raggedy old copy of Moby Dick, a book he'd read countless times (no, not countless, he knew exactly how many but preferred not to say because it scared people).  It was more of a comfort thing, the soft worn corners and the yellowed pages that felt like velvet under his fingertips.  He ran his fingers up and down the spine, feeling the places he'd stitched back up himself, and waited like a child hugging its teddy bear.  </p><p>“I was,” Rossi began, sighing.  He couldn't seem to finish sentences today.  His brain was glitching out, short circuiting.  “His doctor asked me to attend a support group for families of people with traumatic brain injury.”</p><p>“Wait,” Morgan stopped him, his glare icy and piercing.  “Do they think he's got permanent damage?”</p><p>Rossi just met Morgan's hard glare with his soft, sad eyes.   He was out of steam.  Running on fumes.  Morgan could be so rough and brash, but Rossi knew it came from a place of love and was fed by fear, so he tried to meet him there.  </p><p>“There is a strong probability that some things will just...be different.  They're cautiously hopeful. His injury is considered mild thanks to you guys and everything you did out there, but the brain doesn't regenerate and heal itself like other organs. It just doesn't work that way.  He may make a full recovery, but if he doesn't...we should all prepare ourselves for what that looks like.”</p><p>It took a lot for all of them to be silent at once, but that was it.  Rossi had just figured out what it took.  The idea that Hotch might not be Hotch anymore was enough to shock the words right out of them.  The silence stretched on as they considered what all of this meant, for Hotch, for Jack, for the team, for Rossi.  </p><p>“Oh Rossi,” Emily said softly, leaning her head on his shoulder, and Rossi just had to smile – it wasn't easy to get a moment of real emotion out of Emily Prentiss. The woman kept herself as well guarded as Hotch, sometimes even better.  He slipped his arm around her shoulder and held her close, and there they all sat in stunned silence, listening to the endless chattering of the clock on the wall.  </p><p>“Dave?” came Shirley's voice from the hallway outside the ICU, and he looked up from his own lost thoughts.  How long had they all been sitting there lost?  She motioned for him to join her and he uncurled himself from around Emily and stood, his stiff muscles protesting the movement.  They entered the hallway together and closed the door to the ICU, walking down toward the staff elevator at the far wall, away from anyone who might overhear.  </p><p>“They've nearly finished with imaging, he should be back up here soon, they'll bring him on this elevator.  I can't give you any real information until Doctor Chavez and the Radiologist have finished reading the scans but I will say that you should probably make arrangements to stay a few more days.“</p><p>Rossi nodded, half listening, knowing he was still putting off making some important phone calls.  Maybe he'd find the courage to make them while the team shuffled through Hotch's room, keeping him company.  He needed to call Strauss to begin filing the injury reports, but what did he say?  He didn't know.  And Jessica, oh God he needed to talk to Jessica, but he just couldn't find the courage for that one.  The last thing he wanted to do was tell Jessica anything that would have to be passed on to Jack before running it by his father first.  Shirley peered across at Rossi, her face the picture of empathy – he knew from her own sharing at the support group that her husband had suffered a stroke.  </p><p>“I'm glad you came to group this morning,” she said softly, toying with the stethoscope hanging around her neck.  Something to do with her hands, Rossi knew.  She was nervous, she felt bad for him.  “We do it Monday through Thursday in the mornings for anyone who wants to come, some people come every day, some only once in a while, when they really need it. If you'd like to come back, or if any of your friends want to come, everyone is welcome.  Tomorrow Dr. C is leading the group, and he hates those dusty old cinnamon rolls the kitchen sends up so we'll have fruit and muffins, its a real treat.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Rossi sighed, leaning back against the wall.  Was this his new life?  Being excited about the free food at a support group?  She eyed him carefully for a moment before reaching out and grabbing him by the hand, giving it a light squeeze.</p><p>“I know this all seems scary right now, but he's going to be okay because he's got you.  No matter what his recovery looks like, he's going to be okay.”</p><p>“He has a son,” Rossi choked.  It had erupted out of nowhere, but it was all he could think about. Jack's face, the face of a child who had already lost so much.  How could he lose more?  “A young son.  He's a single father.  His wife passed some years ago.”  He stopped himself before delving into specifics, the last thing this poor woman needed to know was how brutal and ugly Haley's passing had been.  Still was.  None of them would ever put that behind them, what happened that day.  </p><p>“Oh,” she began, not quite knowing what to say.  “That's terrible.  I'm so sorry.  But you two...”</p><p>“Yes.  We are.  We don't live together, though.”  </p><p>“Oh, oh, I just assumed...” she was cut off before she could finish by the sound of the elevator's chimes.  They stepped out of the way and watched as the radiology tech wheeled Hotch's bed into the ICU.  Shirley gave him a nod and they walked along behind the tech with the bed, watching as he got Hotch back into place in the room.  It wasn't long before Shirley had him hooked back up to all of his IVs and monitors, checking his vitals.  The gentle beeping of the machines was oddly comforting to Rossi, soothing his frayed nerves.  He felt profoundly sad, standing there, sad and sick but at peace.  </p><p>“Dave,” came a hoarse, dry voice from the bed, and Rossi smiled.  He just couldn't help it, it was the only reaction his body could muster at the sound of that voice.  </p><p>“I'm here,” he whispered, leaning over the bed.  “Just like I promised.”</p><p>“Thank you,” his voice was so soft, almost ghostly.  He swallowed hard and looked up at the ceiling, studying the lines and spots, trying to focus his mind.    </p><p>“How do you feel?” Rossi asked, pulling his chair up now, seating his tired bones.  Hotch turned his head to the side, wincing at the motion.  He was so stiff, so slow.  </p><p>“I don't know,” he replied softly, almost listlessly.  “I'm not sure.”</p><p>“That's alright, Aaron.”  Rossi could feel something twisting inside of him, and all he could do was hope the doctor would make an appearance soon so they could get some answers.  “It's okay.”</p><p>“Dave,” Hotch began, coughing.  It was ragged and wet sounding.  “Is...is Haley...”  Dave felt his stomach lurch, he thought he was going to be sick.  He didn't want to hear the end of that question.  “Did I...”</p><p>“Aaron, I don't think we should talk about this now,” Rossi choked out.  Hotch narrowed his eyes, like he was trying desperately to focus, like he hadn't heard Rossi, like thinking was painful but he couldn’t stop.  Everything flashed so quickly and felt like a diesel trail slamming through his skull.  He was grasping, trying to hold onto anything that felt real.  </p><p>“She's...” he tried, but he just couldn't find the words.  It wasn't that he couldn't remember, not really, but it was all foggy.  Out of order.  Wrong.  He remembered the blood, so much blood, and Morgan's arms...but everything was strange flashes of light and pain and faces and blood.  “And...”</p><p>“Ahhh, how are we feeling?” asked Doctor Chavez, breaking the tension of the room and entering quickly. He hadn't bothered with formalities, just waltzed right in and Rossi was glad for it, even if he felt the cinnamon roll rising into his throat, sure he was going to be sick.  Hotch just stared straight ahead, didn't answer, didn't move, like he hadn't even noticed the intrusion.  The doctor nodded, pursing his lips, and took his seat opposite Rossi.  He folded his hands in his lap and looked from one to the other expectantly.</p><p>“Not so good as when we all last met I see.  Tell me,” he started, leaning back in his chair, twisting his legs up around themselves again.  “What are we talking about?”</p><p>“I can't remember,” Hotch began, closing his eyes.  His ears were ringing and his head was pounding. He couldn't place why it hurt so bad, why the pain wouldn't stop. “My wife.  Something happened to her and I can't figure it out.  How could I forget?”</p><p>“To over-simplify a very complex situation, your brain is injured.  If you broke your leg, you'd need time to heal before you could walk again.  This is somewhat similar. You'll need to allow yourself some time.  We didn't see anything on the scans to indicate that you should experience permanent memory loss...that's good news, isn't it?  We'll just need to go slow, work through piecing things back together.  Your memories should all be in tact, they're just scattered right now, is that how it feels?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Your friends and family will help you piece things back together when you need.  It will happen naturally, too, some days you'll wake up and everything will be clear, others foggy, but the clear days should get more and more frequent as you heal.  You are more likely to struggle with short term memory, things that are happening since your injury.  Dave, perhaps we can start where we're at right now, with the memories he's looking for.  Can you help?”</p><p>“Doctor, I don't know if...” Dave began, but the doctor shook his head.  </p><p>“It may be unpleasant, but it belongs to him.  I know your instinct is to protect him, but withholding these things can lead to resentment and distrust, like you’re trying to hide things.  In the interest of openness and honesty, if he wants it, I think we should try.”</p><p>“With all due respect, doctor, you don't know what you're asking me to do.  It isn't just unpleasant, it's horrific.” Rossi looked over at Hotch sadly, feeling that day like it was happening all over again, the phone call, the shot that bound all of them together in that moment forever.  People could come and go, wonderful amazing profilers could join them and leave them, but if you asked Rossi why this team, this team that sat here at the hospital today was THE one, it was simply that shot.  They'd all been there, it had ripped through all of them, stitched them together.  </p><p>“Are you sure you want to know, Aaron?” the doctor asked, and Rossi watched as Hotch nodded, mouthed a silent yes.   Rossi's shoulders sagged, he felt the sick threatening again.  He almost wished he could just get it over with, get that cinnamon roll out of there, have an excuse not to say anything.  </p><p>“She was murdered,” Rossi whispered, unable to conjure more of his voice.  “Murdered by George Foyet.  Do you remember him Aaron?  What he...what he did to you?  To Morgan?  To all those people?  And Jack hid in your office, Aaron, he was safe.  You still have Jack.”  He hoped that would be enough.  He didn't want to tell Hotch what he'd done, but as he watched tears spill down his friend's cheeks, somehow he knew that the memories were finding their places, filling in those vacant spots with their inky darkness.  This was what they wanted, right?  To fix the problem?  It just looked like torture to Rossi, and he wanted no part in it.  He looked over at the doctor, and Rossi noted with some grim satisfaction that he looked remorseful, like he wished he'd not pushed so hard.  </p><p>“That's,” the doctor began, clearing his throat uncomfortably.  “That's a start.  Let's talk about those scans, shall we?”</p><p>Rossi kept his eyes on Hotch who wasn't responding now, wasn't moving save for the labored rise and fall of his chest and the tremor in his hands that hadn't gone away.  He reached up and put his hand on Hotch's, squeezing lightly, wishing he could take it back.    </p><p>“Aaron?” he asked softly, so softly.  Hotch turned his eyes toward Rossi and in them he could see it all, the profound grief of losing his wife for a second time, the shame and horror at what he'd done to Foyet, he could see it all. “Aaron, stay with me here.  Please.”  </p><p>“The scans,” the doctor interrupted, quietly, “indicated some residual swelling near the temporal lobe region, including both the amygdala and hippocampus, which would explain the difficulties surrounding memory, emotion and disorientation.  The swelling should subside with time, it has decreased considerably on its own since your arrival.”  He paused for a moment, eyes darting back and forth between the two men before continuing.  “We are cautiously optimistic that it should continue without further need for intervention, but we will remain vigilant. There are some long term concerns over oxygen loss, but knowing that you were not without oxygen for more than a few minutes is encouraging. There were some small spots we found on the occipital lobe and cerebellum, caused most likely by the blunt force trauma.  These are slightly more concerning.  We'll have you meet with our physical therapists and our ophthalmologists for evaluation and treatment plans. Shirley is arranging those appointments now, hopefully for this afternoon.  Overall, I'm encouraged by the pictures we got.”</p><p>“And the other scans?” Rossi asked, still holding Hotch's hand tight.  Maybe too tight, he didn't know. Hotch wasn't moving, just trying to listen.  He was struggling to focus.  </p><p>“Yes, the chest scans.  We didn't see any damage to the heart, which is very encouraging, but there is some indication of pulmonary edema.  That tightness, trouble breathing and coughing you're seeing, many people refer to it as secondary drowning.  That's a little dramatic for what we're seeing, though, so I'd rather you didn't start thinking of it that way.  We're monitoring it – usually the body can sort it out without intervention, which is always the goal.  However, if it doesn't, it could lead to infection which I don't need to tell you would be bad, huh?  We'll just continue to keep an eye on it.  The good news is that we're only planning to keep you in the ICU one more night, after which we'll admit you to The Floor.  You'll have a little more freedom down there.”</p><p>“How long do I have to stay?” Hotch asked, furrowing his brow.  Doctor Chavez smiled, glad to hear the man speak finally.  </p><p>“Probably a couple more days, at least until the swelling is gone.  You take it easy, get a lot of sleep and you'll see faster results.  It isn't recommended that you fly within ten days of a minor TBI, so that may be something to consider as you make plans to head home.  Do you have any other questions?”</p><p>“No.”  </p><p>“Alright.  Shirley will be back soon to talk about your appointments, but in the meantime, I'd suggest you get some sleep.  You've had a busy morning.  If you'd like to have visitors, they can come in one at a time and so long as stimulation is kept at a minimum, Mister Rossi, I'll make sure the nurses station knows you may stay in the room while the visitors make their way through.  In general we only allow one person at a time but we’ll make an exception today.”</p><p>As the doctor left, Rossi just stared at Hotch, a little afraid of what the other man was thinking. He didn't know how to do this, how to navigate these waters.  </p><p>“Aaron?” Rossi asked softly, leaning in closer, trying to catch a glimpse of something to hold onto.  He could see silent distress in the other man's eyes.  “Talk to me.  Anything.”</p><p>“It hurts,” he whimpered, his face twisting in pain.  “I can't think.  It's not - “ he started, stuttering a few times, like his mouth just wouldn't work.  As the pain worsened, so did his scrambled thoughts, and with it his stuttering.   “It's not that I c-c-can't remember things, I just can't...I can't think straight, it hurts.”    </p><p>Rossi tried to mask his alarm behind false calm, tried to smile reassuringly.  It wasn't at all like Hotch to admit when he wasn't okay, this was throwing him for a loop.  He was finally getting what he'd wanted for years – Hotch was talking to him, telling him when he was hurt or sad or scared, all of these things he'd been wishing for, and now that it was happening, he realized he couldn't do a single damn thing to help.  To make it stop.  He had no power here.</p><p>“I'll call the nurses,” he began, but Aaron reached out with his shaking hand and grabbed at him desperately, eyes pleading.  </p><p>“No, no please no more morphine.  It's not helping, it's just making me f-f-feel sick...”</p><p>“Okay, okay, shhh...” Rossi whispered, rising so that he could sit on the edge of his partner's bed, resting his weight gently against the other man's leg.  “How about you try to sleep?  I'll stay right here, right next to you if you want.”  Hotch nodded slightly, swallowing a painful lump in his throat.  Rossi reached out with the toe of his boot and pulled his chair closer, propping his feet up so he was more comfortable teetering there on the edge of the bed.  He watched as his friend drifted off to sleep, his breathing slowing until it was nearly imperceptible, soft and gentle.  He would eventually have to move, have to make some calls, have to let the team in here to see their friend but right now, he was content just to sit and watch the man he loved sleep, praying over him everything he could think to pray, over and over.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Shall we do this a bit earlier today, eh?  And with a little less technical talk, a little more hurt/comfort/angst.  And gross candy, because I HC that Hotch only likes the nastiest candies (apologies to anyone who likes the cinnamon bears, the fruity ones are SO GOOD, the cinnamon ones are vile)- probably because he hates himself?  Or because he just really doesn’t eat candy much.  Like, he probably loves Sixlets too, but I imagine that’s so he can get candy from Jack’s trick or treating stash without the kid caring much.  Like he probably sticks the end of the wrapper into his mouth and pops the whole line of little chocolate spheres in at once like he’s shotgunning a beer, quick enough that when Jack asks him what he’s doing, he’s already downed them and can feign innocence.  But he draws the line at Tootsie Rolls, he’s not a monster.  Anyway!  Thanks for sticking around while I torture the poor guy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>…................................................Part Four...................................</p><p> </p><p>“Strauss,” Rossi began, pacing outside the window to Hotch's room.  He paused and watched as Prentiss pulled up a chair, Hotch looking at her cautiously.  She looked scared, but he was sure she'd warm up.  “There was an accident.”</p><p>The conversation lasted longer than he'd hoped, but she was only being thorough, he couldn't fault the woman for that.  Their friendship had always been an odd one, towing the line between love and loathe, and he'd gone into this under the assumption it would be painful and she'd be so inhuman.  Here he was, though, in tears at her absolute unwavering kindness.  She had listened intently, patiently as Rossi recounted the facts.  She spoke softly and almost sadly over Hotch, and most unexpectedly, had offered the team a few extra days to stick around (with the undoubted knowledge that they may be called out sooner if a case popped up that required their specific sets of expertise).  He'd prepared to go into battle just to get himself cleared to stay as Hotch’s proxy, and here she was allowing them all the opportunity.  When they'd finished, he stood with his hands in his pockets and watched as Hotch and Prentiss sat, few words between them.  That was, for better or worse, just them. Soon, Prentiss had gone and Morgan took his seat, followed by JJ and then finally Reid.  Rossi had continued waiting just outside the window, monitoring but not intruding, until Reid took his seat.  It was the first time that Hotch looked happy, lighter.  When he saw that, he felt reassured enough to call Jessica.  That conversation hadn't gone as well, and he'd known it going in.  This job had taken so much from her family already and here he was preparing her for more.  She cried, she apologized for crying, and then she cried again.  He asked her not to say anything to Jack except that his daddy would be gone a little longer than planned, assuring her that it would be better to wait and see what progress he made before scaring the boy.  As he paced the window, he watched Reid curl his legs up in the chair, pull them in close to his chest, smile.  Hotch smiled back, the first smile since the ice.  </p><p>When the visits had ended, and Rossi had told the team about his call with Strauss, they all shuffled out to get dinner and Rossi headed back to the room.  </p><p>“How are you?” Rossi asked, seating himself in the chair that had seen much action that day.  Hotch just lay there, eyes on the ceiling, and shook his head softly.  </p><p>“Not sure,” was his response.  It had been more or less his response the entire time.  “I'm tired.”</p><p>“Me too,” Rossi replied, sighing. Hotch looked over at him, blinking that slow sleepy blink of his.  </p><p>“You were talking out there,” Hotch started, licking his dry lips.  His voice was low and slow, trying to control the stutter.  He tried to form words with his lips before making the sounds, like he was practicing a newly acquired skill, finally landing on something simple.  “Who?”</p><p>“Strauss and Jessica.  Strauss needs to file the injury reports so the hospital gets paid, and she's given the team some time off to stay with you.  Jessica is going to stay with Jack, she isn't going to tell him what happened yet.  Is that alright?”</p><p>Hotch nodded slowly, methodically, but it looked like he was still trying to figure out what Rossi had said. He felt awful, he should have spoken slower, enunciated better, he wasn't exactly batting a thousand here.  He felt so utterly out of his depths.  </p><p>“It's dinner time,” chimed a nurse from the doorway, entering slowly.  She had two covered plates of food on one tray, teetering precariously on a cart that squealed as she moved it into the room.  Hotch flinched at the sound and she apologized profusely, rolling it to a stop beside the bed.  “I've brought some food for both of you, but I will have to ask that you leave when the meal is over.  Visitation hours end soon and we have two more patients on their way up here so we can't have overnight visitors tonight.  He'll have his PT and vision evaluations in the morning, Doctor Chavez had mentioned that he'd like you here for that.”</p><p>Hotch looked to Rossi, and though he could feel panic welling up in his chest, he only sighed and nodded. Rossi looked exhausted, dead on his feet, and Hotch knew he needed to leave in order to sleep.  </p><p>“It's okay,” Hotch whispered. “I'll be fine.”</p><p>The nurse smiled and exited the room after making note of his vitals and EKG readouts, leaving the two of them and their covered plates of food.  Dinner was quiet, neither man really eating much of their food – Rossi was ravenous, but the food was bland and dry.  He choked down what he could out of guilt over wasting something brought to him in kindness, but there was only so much guilt his stomach could take.  Hotch sipped his water, spilling bits of it down the front of his chin with the frustrating tremor in his hands.  He wasn't hungry, not even a little, but before Rossi left he handed the man his jello cup with a wry smile.  </p><p>“Let Morgan...and R-r-reid fight over it,” he said softly.  Rossi smiled and shook his head in disbelief.</p><p>“You got it,” he replied, slipping the jello cup into his pocket and hoping he didn't forget about it there.  He kept his goodbye short, fearing that if he stretched it out, one or both of them may lose whatever resolve they were clinging to.  As he left, with a pit in his stomach, he hazarded one glance back at the man he loved, lying there alone in his room staring at the ceiling and said one more prayer.  </p><p>The hotel was warm, so warm.  He hadn't even noticed how cold the ICU had been until now.  Slipping out of the clothes he'd been in for two days, taking a shower, laying in a real bed – these luxuries he wasn't taking for granted.  His bed still smelled like Hotch, all rumpled pillows and loose, messy sheets. They'd asked for no turn down service, like usual, and while Rossi did very much enjoy getting into clean, crisp sheets, for once he was glad for Hotch's intense and unyielding need for privacy.  He was adamant that housekeeping not come into their room, a point that Rossi had only ever tested once and regretted still to this day.  He'd just assumed Hotch didn't want them going through his personal belongings, but it was more than that, it was the entire space – he'd behaved as if his home had been broken into, was nearly crawling out of his skin and angry, ready to go give the housekeeping staff a piece of his mind when Rossi admitted he'd asked for turndown service.  Their first real, honest argument, and the first time Rossi really saw how much damage Foyet's attack had caused in the far reaching corners of the other man's life.  It wasn't just painful scars and a fully stocked medicine cabinet, it was more than the loss of his family, it was the loss of his already shaky sense of security and safety anywhere he went.  It was the complete and utter loss of peace.  He hugged one of Hotch's pillows close to his chest, breathed in the sweaty sleep smell and sighed, just remembering how awful he'd felt and how he'd still continued to try and argue his point anyway. Wasn't that just like him?  He knew he was wrong, he should have just apologized for his ignorance, it was an innocent mistake, but he had to get every last dig in.  He wasn't arguing to be right anymore, he was arguing to win.  If Hotch wasn't so private, if he would just tell the truth, if he'd just let people in...on and on he'd gone, until he'd broken Hotch down to the point of tears he was so upset. To his credit, Hotch never raised his voice, but then neither did Rossi.  They were both old enough to wound deeply without needing to use volume as a crutch.  Hotch had shut down entirely, holed up in the shower, and Rossi sat on the bed listening to the man he so loved having a full blown panic attack, just he and the steam, behind a locked door because of him.  It had ended, mercifully, with him picking the lock and entering the shower, having finally arrived at his senses.  He'd not even bothered to get undressed, he just climbed into the shower in his work clothes and wrapped Hotch in his arms, holding him tight, muttering sopping wet apologies over and over.  He'd won that argument, he'd broken the person he loved, and his reward was overwhelming guilt and shame.  </p><p>Rossi fell asleep quickly, lying on Hotch's side of the bed, wishing he could go back in time.  </p><p>In the morning, he'd sprung up with the sun, a good hour before the alarm he'd set.  He felt alive again. Not good, he didn't feel good, but he was awake and alive.  There was a knock at his door, and through the peephole he saw Prentiss holding two coffees.  She leaned in close, shoving her eye up to the hole now, and Rossi laughed.  </p><p>“Let me in,” she commanded, using the tip of her pointed boot to kick at the door.  “Or I'll huff and I'll puff...” but before she could finish, he was opening the door with one hand and reaching out for the coffee in her left hand with the other.  She always held his coffee in her left hand.  The two of them stood just inside of his room quietly for a moment, sipping the scalding hot liquid that would propel them through their morning.  </p><p>“How was he when you left?”</p><p>“Tired,” Rossi replied.  “I have to be back there soon for some evaluations, then they'll be moving him from the ICU to the floor.  You're all free to come visit when he's settled into his room.”</p><p>“Yeah, of course,” she started, shifting on her heels.  “JJ and I were getting ready to head out for breakfast, Morgan and Reid are still asleep.  Would you care to join us?”</p><p>Rossi considered the offer for a moment, and thought about declining, but he did want real food and he could use the company.  “I'd love to,” he said finally, reaching for his coat and the do not disturb sign.  Prentiss eyed the sign and the state of the room, shaking her head.  </p><p>“He'd never know if you let housekeeping in,” she said softly, catching Rossi off-guard.</p><p>“It's not,” he started, and sighed. “I would know.”  She nodded, understanding.  </p><p>Breakfast with JJ and Prentiss was quiet but nice, conversation that steered clear of Hotch or the case entirely.  By the time he'd entered the hospital, he felt refreshed and ready to take on the day.  </p><p>“Good morning,” he called, entering Hotch's room with a smile.  Hotch looked over at the doorway and smiled, just a soft little smile, and Rossi noted that he looked exhausted.  “Did you sleep?”</p><p>“A little,” Hotch replied quietly, squinting to see Rossi.  “Headache all night.  Missed you.”</p><p>“I missed you too.”  Rossi pulled up his chair and sat beside Hotch, grabbing hold of his hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing his knuckles softly.  They sat in silence until the physical therapists entered and began their evaluation, Rossi watching from outside the room.  He could see the frustration and pain on Hotch's face as they tested his strength and coordination, but he didn't put up a fight.  He watched as they helped him out of the bed, socked feet on the floor for the first time in over 24 hours, and while he looked unsteady and weak, he was moving on his own.  Seeing him upright, feet on the floor, filled Rossi with the first spark of hope he'd had in days.  He faltered only once, being caught by the PT as he was making his way back into the bed, but otherwise looked good.  When the PT evaluation was done and the vision specialists came through, Rossi once again watched from outside of the room, this time joined by Shirley.   </p><p>“He's doing great,” she said softly, standing at his side.  “He's strong.”  </p><p>“I never doubted his strength,” Rossi replied in a voice hardly above a whisper.  “He's the strongest person I know, but we all have our breaking points.  Things we don't come back from.”</p><p>“You can't let yourself think like that, okay?  He's doing great.  Really, really great.  He's skipping step down and going straight from ICU to the floor, that's remarkable.”</p><p>It wasn't long before they found themselves moving downstairs, into Hotch's new room.  It was bigger and slightly warmer, had a window with a nice view of the wide open sky and a hallway full of visitors waiting on their turn to shower him with gifts and attention he probably didn't want.  Between Prentiss and Emily there was a massive bouquet of balloons in every color of the rainbow tied to a teddy bear, and without asking Rossi knew that had been a request made by Garcia to brighten up his room. JJ held flowers, Emily held a small clear bag of candy – chocolate covered gummy bears, the cinnamon kind, his favorite.  They made her stomach turn, she absolutely hated them, in fact she once referred to them as tasting like demon farts, but even still she had spent all morning tracking them down.  She'd had to go into the candy shop in the mall an entire town away to get her hands on them, further solidifying her stance on them.  Sometimes she couldn't believe the lengths she went to for these people.  Morgan and Reid both took a more practical approach, having brought him clothing and his laptop.</p><p>While the nurses got Hotch's monitors hooked up, not nearly so many now, Rossi stood in the hallway and chatted with his friends, updating them on everything he knew, at least everything Hotch would want to share.  The team shuffled through, still taking turns going in one at a time even though they could all have gone in at once, and Rossi was glad to have a few moments just to sit back and watch.  He wished Garcia could have been there, but Morgan had taken care of that by calling her during his turn and putting her on speaker phone – she even made Hotch laugh once or twice.  By the time Prentiss made it into the room, he looked exhausted.  </p><p>“Got you something,” she muttered, tossing the bag into his lap.  He regarded it suspiciously, then smiled at her.  “I swear, if you eat them in front of me I might barf.”  She knew he hadn't eaten anything since being in the hospital, was trying to bait him into it, but he just eyed the bag for a long while silently.  </p><p>“Thanks, Emily.”  With trembling fingers, he grabbed the bag and put it on the tray beside him and pointed to his bag on the chair beside her.  “C-c-could you see if my sweater is in there?  I'm freezing.”  He averted his eyes, ashamed at his stuttering, and waited while she searched the bag. When she returned with the sweater, she handed it to him and watched as he slid into it, careful not to jostle the monitors too much. They'd let him off of the IVs for a while, as long as he made good on his promise to drink water, so he only needed to be watchful of the port in his hand.  He pulled the sweater closed at the front and tried to button it up, but he couldn't manage it.  He'd get the button between his fingers and find himself unable to thread it through the hole, over and over.  Prentiss leaned over and grabbed for the buttons, closing up one of the buttons for him.  </p><p>“I can do it,” he snapped, grabbing for the buttons again, agitated.  His hands were shaking terribly now and he squinted to focus.  She backed off for a minute and watched, hazarding a glance back through the window at Rossi before turning toward Hotch and reaching for the sweater, trying to help again.  He growled in frustration this time and threw his head back against the pillow, his hands covering his face, rubbing desperately at his eyes.  “I want you to leave.”</p><p>“Hotch,” she started, but he raised his head and stared at her with cold eyes.  </p><p>“Now.”  </p><p>She nodded solemnly and stood up, leaving without saying another word.  Rossi met her just outside the door, curious.  </p><p>“What happened?” he asked, his eyes darting between Prentiss and Hotch, and she just sighed.  </p><p>“I shouldn't have done that,” she said softly, her voice full of regret.  “I should have asked his permission before trying to help.  He couldn't button his sweater, I just wanted to help.  Tell him I'm sorry, okay?”  </p><p>“Emily,” Rossi began, but she was already walking swiftly down the hallway, her heeled boots echoing through the corridor.  Rossi looked at the rest of the team and shrugged before entering the room and shutting the door behind him.  Hotch looked miserable – defeated and sad, on the verge of tears, not a trace of his previous anger left.  </p><p>“Aaron,” Rossi started, watching as Hotch once again fumbled with the buttons on his sweater, obsessed now with trying to make his hands work.  Rossi reached out and grabbed his hands, steadying them in his own, and guided him to where he needed to go.  It was slow, but over and over they tried until the sweater was closed up around him.  </p><p>“Thank you,” Hotch whispered, and Rossi just nodded.  </p><p>“Time,” Rossi said quietly.  “This is just going to take time.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here we are!  I really could have continued dragging it out forever, but it felt like it needed to be wrapped up.  I listened to a lot of Nick Cave while writing this and I think it shows.  Whew!  Thank you for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>…............................................Part Five..............................................</p><p>The airstrip was icy, snow in giant piles all around, and there the jet sat ready to take the team back home after their long ordeal.  Emily and JJ had boarded first and prepared themselves for the flight while waiting on everyone else. Morgan and Reid had insisted on both picking up Rossi and Hotch, a point of contention for Hotch who wanted precisely zero attention but it turned out to have been a blessing.  Hotch had made leaps and bounds toward his recovery and it was all very impressive, but his balance had proven to be a challenge and on a sheet of ice masquerading as a sidewalk or a landing strip, it would have been far more dangerous if he'd not had Morgan and Reid to help keep him steady.  Rossi made his way up into the jet first and began preparing a spot at the back, near the restroom, for Hotch to sit for the long flight while Morgan and Reid carefully guided the grumpy man up the stairs. When he entered the plane, JJ and Emily sat upright and watched him, smiling.  </p><p>“It's so good to see you, Hotch,” JJ gushed, her eyes sparkling, threatening to spill tears of joy down her cheeks.  He just nodded at her, unable to expend concentration anywhere except his legs, to save face and stay upright.  Stumbling, caught by Morgan, wincing at the pain in his chest under Morgan's arms, try again.  The aisle seemed to stretch on forever, but somehow he made it and deposited his aching body into the seat that Rossi had prepared for him.  Morgan and Reid stood over him momentarily, and he thanked them for helping and told them he was okay, they could go, and for once they just listened and walked away without arguing. Every so often he noticed one of them looking back his direction, but Rossi sat down close, so close, and wrapped Hotch's hand in his and smiled.  </p><p>“They're just happy you're here,” he whispered, seeing the frustration pooling in Hotch's brow at being watched. “They watched you nearly die.  They love you.”</p><p>“I know.  I j-j-just...don't like...” Hotch attempted, but he couldn't find the words he wanted.  He'd learned already that fighting for the words only made him upset and made his head pound, made the dizzy feeling come but words still never came, so he let them go.  Rossi knew.  He nodded, he knew.  </p><p>The jet took off and everyone was silent for a long while, trying not to keep staring back at Hotch, who Rossi had managed to tuck in and convince to go to sleep.  None of them understood what sort of magic Rossi had that allowed him that sort of power over Hotch, but they never ceased to be amazed by it.  Once he was sleeping, his body curled tight around itself in the seat beside Rossi, the rest of them relaxed a little, let themselves talk quietly even, not looking back so often.  </p><p>Hours passed.  Hotch slept.  They'd never seen him sleep so long on the jet, not even in the middle of the night, but Rossi had told them it was what he needed – his recovery would look like a lot of rest, a lot of sleep, a lot of quiet, things that didn't necessarily come naturally to Hotch.  Except the quiet, the man lived for quiet.</p><p>“Is he staying with you?” Prentiss asked, crouching quietly beside Rossi.  The man nodded quickly, closing the worn old novel he'd been reading.  </p><p>“For a while.  Jessica and Jack are going to come stay, too, in a bit.  She's going to give him a day or two to get settled in.  Depending on how things go...” his voice trailed off and he looked over at his sleeping partner with a sad smile.  “I may ask if he'd like to move in with me.  If they would.”</p><p>“Do you think he would?”</p><p>“We have discussed it more than once over the years.  I'm tired of kicking around in that big place on my own anyway.  We’ll see.”</p><p>“He's lucky to have you,” she said, patting him on the leg.  He smiled.  She stood up and made her way back to her seat, plopping down and pulling her legs to her chest, losing herself in the thoughts that had plagued her – what if Hotch didn't recover?  She wasn't worried about him needing help, him not being the same Hotch he'd been, she would adapt – she was worried that he'd stay away, that he'd be too ashamed to be around them anymore, that she'd lose him.  He hadn't spoken much to her since the button incident, though he had apologized to her and she him, it wasn't the same already.  </p><p>It was a long ride back to Virginia, long and quiet.  Hotch slept the entire time, hardly stirring, and none of them could quite believe it.  When they looked at him, he just looked like himself, it was hard to remember that things were wrong, except when they all considered that they'd never seen him sleep so long or so peacefully in all their time jetting around the country.  Rossi roused him from sleep once JJ and Emily had left the plane, Reid and Morgan hanging around to help again regardless of protest.  Hotch didn't bother to argue, though, he was tired and foggy and probably would have let someone carry him without much fuss though he'd never admit to that one.  His legs carried him slowly, swaying a little with each step, like he'd had one too many drinks at the airport bar but he gripped the seats and the railing and, when those failed, Morgan's or Reid's hands.  Rossi hung back, glad of the help.  He could have done it all but he also knew Hotch needed to see he could trust all of these people, he needed to know they all had his back.  </p><p>Morgan drove everyone home in one SUV, none of them wanting to be apart just yet.  Hotch found himself curled up between Rossi and Reid in the backseat, and by the time Morgan was dropping JJ off so Prentiss could crawl into the front seat he was asleep with his head on Reid's shoulder.  He just couldn’t seem to stay awake.  They were squished and Rossi had gone without a seat belt in order to make everyone fit into one SUV, but when Prentiss moved, Rossi stayed put, content to just be a prop for his partner.  Reid seemed perfectly happy where he was, smashed between Hotch's warm sleeping body and the door.  Prentiss was dropped next, leaving just the four men in the vehicle headed for Rossi's house.  He'd drop Reid off last, wanting to be able to help as much as possible.  Getting him into Rossi's house, into the bedroom, hadn't been difficult but leaving him there was.  </p><p>“You guys gonna be okay?” Morgan asked, leaning heavily in the door frame.  Reid was still saying goodbye to Hotch down the hall.  </p><p>“We'll be fine,” Rossi replied softly. “You guys come visit anytime.”</p><p>Morgan nodded.  “Yeah.  We will. When are you back at work?”</p><p>“It depends on how he gets on, and how much Jessica is able to help with.  He’s got a lot of appointments and he won’t be able to drive for a while, there are a lot of things to consider right now.  Strauss is looking into finding someone to fill in for us, or at least him, he'll be out longer.  Maybe...well, anyway.  I'm sure she'll be talking with you tomorrow.”</p><p>“Being down both of you is a lot, man,” Morgan sighed, folding his arms over his chest.  Rossi nodded, he knew.  </p><p>“I understand.  It was selfish of us to pursue this relationship, knowing this could always be a possible outcome, but here we are and my obligation is to him, not my job, right now.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Morgan began, but thought better of finishing that thought.  He didn't need to.  They'd had this conversation many times over the years.   “You think he'll be able to come back?”</p><p>“I can't think about that right now, Derek.  Go home and get some rest, I'll be in touch.”</p><p>Reid came sauntering down the hallway a moment later and said his own goodbye to Rossi.  It was short and sad, neither of them wanting to leave but both knowing it was time. When the door shut and it was just Rossi there in the entryway, knowing that just the two of them were in the home now, and they hadn't been on their own in what felt like a lifetime, he felt a crushing sense of fear overcome him.  The doctors had prepared him for any number of things, given him a list of phone numbers and appointments and therapists and ways to adjust the house to needs that pop up – it was overwhelming.  It had been so much easier in the hospital where his only job was to just be there, now it all rested squarely on his shoulders.  He slipped down the hallway and into the bedroom, pausing in the doorway a moment to watch while Hotch tried to fumble with the buttons on his sweater again, this time trying to get them out of the holes – he was doing better, getting closer, but he still couldn't quite manage it. With a sigh of frustration, Hotch peeled the sweater off over his head and lay back against the pillow, his face a portrait of self-loathing.  </p><p>“Don't look at me like that,” he snapped, turning his eyes to Rossi.  They were so cold all of a sudden.  </p><p>“Like what, Aaron?” Rossi asked, taking a seat at the end of the bed.  Hotch sighed, his demeanor all of a sudden shifting from anger to sadness.  </p><p>“Like your heart is breaking.  I can't take it.”</p><p>“That's not it, Aaron,” Rossi said softly, shaking his head.  “I was just thinking how in awe I am of you, never giving up.  I would already have decided to stop wearing clothes with buttons, but you keep trying.  And you're going to get it.”</p><p>“If I don't?”</p><p>“Then you follow my lead and stop wearing clothes with buttons,” Rossi offered, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.  “Maybe you're a zipper guy now.  Or Velcro.  Or pullover.  It doesn't matter.”</p><p>Hotch cocked an eyebrow and smiled, just a half smile, the cold gone from his eyes now.  The two settled in for sleep without any further discussion.  It was all goodnights and hugs, Rossi pulling Aaron close to him, sharing a bed for the first time in too long, holding him there as long as he could before he rolled over to go to sleep as well.  </p><p>Hotch's recovery was slow, but he made progress every day.  Rossi and Jessica had split duties so that Rossi could return to work part-time, and Jack helped where he could, mostly with keeping Hotch company and helping him tie his shoes – something a child his age got quite a thrill over getting to teach a grown up.  The two of them watched a lot of movies, ate a lot of popcorn, and put together a lot of puzzles.  Every day someone stopped by to visit, without fail, even over a month in.  JJ brought them freezer meals, Prentiss would sit and drink scotch with Rossi and give him a chance to let off some steam, Morgan took Jack out to run him around all the neighborhood parks, Garcia showered them all with gifts and baked goods and Reid would sit and read to Hotch.  It had become their thing – and it didn't matter what book it was, what the subject was, Hotch just sat in bed and listened intently, like a child at a library story hour.  It helped him focus, helped him find and sort the words that bashed around in his brain, he looked forward to it more than almost anything else.  As the months stretched out and he'd found himself nearing his evaluation to return to work, he knew he was going to miss their evenings reading the most (he was sometimes coming every night, when he could) and he didn't know how to reconcile that.  Once life resumed as it always did, he doubted they'd have time for that anymore.  </p><p>The evaluation came and went, and Hotch was cleared to return to work on light duty.  He couldn't be out in the field, wasn't cleared for use of his weapon, but he could start piecing his life back together.  When the team flew out for cases, he stayed behind with Garcia, the two of them having become quite a pair.  She was teaching the old dog some new tricks, which helped him in more ways than he could count.  He still couldn't button up his shirts, but he was content to let Rossi or Jack do that for him, and he’d invested in a number of polo shirts and pullovers just in case he didn’t have anyone to give him a hand.  He'd managed to tie his own shoes, which he deemed more important in the grand scheme of things anyway.  He was seeing physical therapists and occupational therapists and speech therapists and had added a few more prescriptions to his already heavy load, but he'd discovered that he could live with all of it.   The road to recovery was long, but he had a better support system than he ever dared to dream, and he was learning to let them help.  Sometimes, anyway.  And the best part?</p><p>Reid would still come by, book in hand, and read to him as often as he could.</p>
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